


Ray of Sunshine

by eastcoastlighthouse



Category: Archer (Cartoon)
Genre: Ableist Language, Fellatio, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-09
Updated: 2016-05-09
Packaged: 2018-06-07 10:56:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6800842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eastcoastlighthouse/pseuds/eastcoastlighthouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ray finds himself in the Imaginarium of Doctor Krieger once more. Cyril pays him a few visits. Set between Season 6 and Season 7.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ray of Sunshine

**Author's Note:**

> Chris Parnell's voice does things to me, what can I say?

The room was pristine, white, and sterile. Malory would probably have approved of it, had it not been the site of many an unorthodox medical experiment. The cupboards lining the walls looked innocent enough, but one could open any drawer at random and find a mishmash of limbs, entrails, and bionic parts haphazardly sewn together. Still, now that the CIA had disavowed their entire operation, they were all out an admittedly close-fisted health insurance package, leaving Krieger’s Laboratory the only medical institution any of them could hope to set foot in.

Not that Ray Gillette would be setting foot anywhere anytime soon. He stared miserably at the lumps underneath the blanket which had perhaps, once upon a time, been functional legs, but which now had seen enough ill fortune that he might as well have been born with two mortadella sausages for legs. At least then he would have had a snack. All he had to show for his assorted misadventures with ISIS now were two useless appendages with more metal in them than he assumed had been in Cyril’s mouth in middle school.

When he’d come to in Krieger’s unpleasant excuse for a patient room, he had briefly entertained some depraved hope that he’d been fitted with new legs again. Black, bionic, robotic – honestly, anything. Somehow he’d known before he even whipped away the blanket that this time, he’d had no such luck. Lack of funds and materials, Krieger had told him. Unless he’d be willing to settle for something not strictly humanoid. A great part of Ray’s days was spent wondering if he should have taken that offer after all.

At first, the others had come and visited him every now and then. Lana, of course — but even Pam and Archer had stopped by once in awhile. What he’d mistaken for an uncharacteristic sense of camaraderie had been proven to be something much more mercenary. They’d simply been bored, and now that Malory had cooked up some new scheme to get the cash flow flowing once more, they hadn’t shown their face again. No one had even bothered to brief him on what exactly they were planning up there. He could only assume it involved walking. Even Lana had shone through absence — and that was what sometimes choked him up, when it had been hours and he couldn’t remember what time it was because there was no natural light in Krieger’s lab, when he couldn’t be bothered to read another single word of all the hopefully well-intentioned literature Krieger left for him ( _The Positronic Man_ , _Computer One_ , goddamn _Frankenstein_ ). He’d thought she would stick with him, at least. He’d thought someone would.

Someone other than Cyril.

“Hey, buddy.” The doors slid open, and there he was again, sweater vest, horn-rimmed glasses, ill-advised sartorial choices and all. “How’re you holding up?”

Ray wearily turned towards him. “Same as usual. I’m a cripple, Cyril. It’s not a flu I can shake off with bedrest and fluids.”

“See, that’s where you’re wrong.” Cyril dragged one of the metal chairs over to the bed, wincing at the sound. “I’ve been reading up on sudden-onset leg paralysis, and there are reported cases of the symptoms disappearing overnight.”

“It’s not sudden-onset leg paralysis. I got my spinal cord tangled up in a Gordian freakin’ knot while hurtling through a miniature submarine. You were there?”

“I’d argue that was pretty sudden,” Cyril smiled, and sat down.

“What do you want, Cyril? When are you reading up on this stuff anyway? Don’t tell me you’re trying to put yourself through med school.”

“Ah, hm, no… no, I’m not.” Cyril adjusted his glasses and glanced to the side. “I’m not… It’s just, it seems my services are not needed upstairs. I figured we’d be filing for bankruptcy, but it seems…”

“They’re up to something and you’re not part of whatever it is?” Ray huffed. “Join the club. It’s a regular old _The Expendables_ down here.”

“I’m not sure...”

“Without the kicking ass and taking names, and with more being expendable.” Ray grabbed a jello cup from his nightstand and offered it to Cyril. “More being _expandable_ too, if you catch my drift. I’m not getting around to a whole lot of pilates down here, you know? And all Krieger feeds me is goulash and Kaiserschmarren.”

“Yes, well, it’s no party up there either.” Cyril sullenly stabbed at the jello with the spoon. “ _Archer_...”

Ray rolled his eyes. “He’s eye-fucking your Cressida up there, is he, Troilus?”

Cyril glared at him. “If he left it at that, it might not be so grating. Did you know I found a used condom in my trash can the other day? He doesn’t even _use_ condoms. I’ll bet he left it there just to mess with me. Well, mission accomplished! The mess has been made! I am thoroughly messed with! I’m, I’m...”

“Oh, _dukes_ — Cyril, come on...”

Cyril buried his face in his hands, and sniffled: “It’s not as if… as if I did anything wrong! It’s not cheating if it’s a medical disorder. I had a doctor’s note! And she just leaps straight into his arms as if, as if… and then the _baby_ …!”

Ray patted him on the arm with his original hand, keeping the… _other_ hand under the covers. “You’re skipping over several romantic subplots in _Lana Kane’s Diary_ there. Anyway, whatever happened with your sex addiction? I feel like that was a way bigger part of your schtick a couple of years ago.”

“You think _I’m_ getting _laid?_ ” Cyril lowered his hands, his eyes puffy and red. “Jesus, Ray. I spend every single waking hour at this goddamn agency. I don’t even have friends.”

“Anymore,” Ray benevolently added.

Cyril shrugged. “Sure. Well, what about you? How’s being a biracial paraplegic robot working out for you?”

“Inappropes!” Ray couldn’t help but smirk. “Kick a man while he’s crippled. Anyway, I don’t get reception down here, so Grindr is out of the question. I was actually hoping you could smuggle out some notes for me and distribute them down in the West Village.”

“Har-dee-har,” Cyril said morosely. He wiped at his eyes and straightened his glasses. “I’m glad you’re having such a ball down here.”

“It’s horrible,” Ray replied, suddenly serious. “The highlight of my day is when you come down here and bitch about your star-crossed bullshit. I’m not being sassy. That is literally the highlight of my day, to hear you whine and moan about a ship that sailed so long ago it practically discovered America. So that should give you an idea as to what kind of ball I’m having down here. It’s not exactly like I’m reliving _Paris Is Burning_ here.”

“Fine.” Cyril got up. “If I want to be unappreciated and harassed I can get that upstairs, you know. At least there I can crack a window while I’m being crapped on. It smells like a locker room down here.”

“Try getting a sponge bath from Krieger once and see if you’d volunteer to relive the experience!” Ray bit back, but Cyril was already closing the door behind him. He picked up _Frankenstein_.

It was days before Cyril came down again. He looked uncharacteristically dishevelled, and Ray preemptively put his bookmark — a piece of scrap paper that read _Intellectual, sophisticated twunk looking for open-minded dreamboat sensitive to other cultures & the differently abled_ — back in his book, and folded his hands on his lap like an aging grandparent receiving a private audience. “Look what the social isolation dragged in.”

“Do you think there’s something wrong with me?” Cyril dragged a hand through his already mussed hair. “I’m seriously asking. Does my breath smell? Do I have a disgusting mole somewhere I don’t know about? Do I look weird from the back?“ He dragged a chair to Ray’s bedside but remained standing.

“Wow, okay.” Ray casually glanced behind Cyril to see if this was going to devolve into a Lizzie Borden scenario, but couldn’t see anything resembling a weapon. “What brought this on?”

Cyril now had both his hands in his hair. “Look, I’m not kidding myself here — I know I’m not going to do any better than Lana anytime soon, in fact… that, that kind of surprised me at the time, you know… I still sometimes wake up at night and think, _how?_ How did that happen… but it did happen, and it was fine while it did! Not, not amazing by any means — I mean, I could see how it wouldn’t have been that for her; obviously it was for me. It was, it was mind-shattering. And I guess I can see how she could do better than me, but I don’t see how Archer is anywhere near ‘better than me’ unless we’re living in some parallel universe where it’s getting almost murdered on a daily basis and wearing catsuits around each other that dictate the viability of a match and not a, a shared love for Romanesco and _The Lake House_...”

“Are you having an actual mental breakdown about your tour in the friendzone in front of the guy who _won’t ever freakin’ walk again?_ ”

Cyril quietly sat down.

“That’s what I thought,” Ray sneered.

“I tried asking her back again,” Cyril said, more to his lap than to Ray.

“You gotta stop doing that, buddy. It’s getting embarrassing. Like, more than it already was.”

Cyril looked up, bleary-eyed. “She just laughed in my face. Didn’t even have the decency to feel uncomfortable.”

“Oh, trust me. She did. We _all_ do. In fact, I don’t understand you haven’t died of shame yet with all these ill-fated grand gestures you keep making. You need to stop taking romantic hints from 1980s comedy-dramas, okay? You can’t just _Say Anything_ and expect the ladies to trip over themselves to get to you.”

“How do you do it?” Cyril said after a moment’s contemplation.

Ray snorted. “Well, it’s generally a bit easier for gay men. You find a guy you like, you ask him if you can suck his dick, and before you know it you’re picking out a font for the wedding invitations and/or tripping balls and fucking in a nightclub bathroom.”

“Surely it’s not that easy,” Cyril scoffed.

“Watch.” Ray shifted to face Cyril — no easy task with his legs the way they were — and peered into his eyes. “Cyril, can I suck your dick?”

“Jesus, what?” Cyril sounded mortified.

“Can I put your dick in my mouth?”

“Stop that.”

“Case in point: you haven’t said no yet. Now imagine if you were actually a gay man.”

“I can’t believe this.”

“I can’t believe you still haven’t told me no!” Ray shook his head incredulously, and then realization dawned. “Oh my god! You actually want me to!”

“No I don’t!” Cyril protested.

“Are you that lonely? My god, Cyril. Surely you can get your dick sucked. All it takes is a sleazy bar right before closing time.”

“I’m trying not to do that anymore,” Cyril blushed. 

“Look, I don’t mind. You think I haven’t sucked off a coworker before?” Ray shrugged, and he could see the cogs in Cyril’s head turning. “It’s not who you think.”

“I’m not that kind of person,” Cyril weakly protested, but the way he kept surreptitiously glancing at Ray’s mouth told an entirely different story. He pursed his lips.

Ray heaved another long-suffering sigh, and put his hand on Cyril’s, surprised to find he didn’t immediately yank his away. “Hey. You can be straight with me. Do you want to get off? Of course. Is it gay if a dude sucks your dick? No gayer than hate-masturbating into Archer’s coffee.”

Although he turned a particularly unfortunate shade of ashen at that last accusation, Cyril didn’t object. He simply stared down at Ray’s hand, teary and pale. If it weren’t for the topic of discussion the whole situation could have been taken straight out of a Lifetime movie.

“Just be honest with yourself,” Ray wheedled. It wasn’t even that he wanted to get into Cyril’s pants. It was just oddly stimulating to get into his head. He suddenly understood Lana’s short-lived relationship with Cyril a lot better — and schoolyard bullies, too. “When else are you gonna get an opportunity like this? Even if you reactivate your Match.com profile _today_ it’ll be, what, _months_ before you land yourself a date.”

“I’m not on Match.com,” Cyril said, and stood up. He glanced towards the door, and Ray figured the time was ripe for his secret weapon: softly squeezing Cyril’s hand. It had the desired effect, and Cyril’s shoulders slumped, although Ray couldn’t quite tell if he was finally loosening up or just resigning himself to his fate.

“C’mon, stud,” Ray said, and grinned a toothy grin at the way Cyril winced at the epithet.

Cyril awkwardly clambered up on the bed, and managed to maneuver himself into a position where he straddled Ray. He fumbled with his zipper, looking equal parts flushed and uncomfortable. “You can’t, you can’t tell anyone this happened.”

“Like I’m about to run upstairs and brag about sucking the nerdiest cock in the office,” Ray huffed. “Come here.” He pulled Cyril towards him by his pants and unceremoniously pushed them down, only to be faced with: “Tighty whities, really? Are you going for the Walter White vibe here? Crouching bookworm, hidden butcher? You realize you graduated from elementary school a couple of decades ago, right?”

“Sh-shut up,” Cyril groaned, resting his forearms on the wall and bracing himself. His lips were pulled into a humiliated sneer, but he was already half-hard. “Just do what you’re going to do already.”

“Oh no you don’t,” Ray smirked, running his hands up and down the back of Cyril’s thighs. “What am I going to do, Cyril?”

“You’re going to talk my ear off until I get fed up and leave?” Cyril yelped as Ray pinched the sensitive skin right below his ass. “ _Ow,_ Jesus!”

“I missed that.” Ray hooked an index finger behind the elastic of Cyril’s briefs, and slowly, torturously slowly pulled it back.

“Oh god, don’t… don’t let that snap back, please. Um, you’re going to… well, I imagine you’re going to...”

“I am honestly baffled Lana ever let you inside her apartment, let alone her vagina.” Ray released the elastic, leading Cyril to yowl out again.

“You asshole!” Cyril seethed, and Ray had to admit that from his current position, there was something vaguely enticing about Cyril. All hunched over him, hair a mess, glasses crooked. “Fine! You’re going to suck me off and I’m going to ram my cock in your throat so hard you won’t even be able to thank me for the privilege afterwards — okay? Is that what you wanted?”

“Jesus, Cyril,” Ray muttered. “See a therapist, will ya?” But it was only a half-hearted protest, and he pulled down Cyril’s underwear in earnest, after which he found himself faced with a truly magnificent, and frankly enormous dick. “Holy...”

“Save it,” Cyril said through gritted teeth. “I’ve heard it before.”

“Remind me to ask you how you lost your virginity after we’re done here,” Ray said. “Seems like it would’ve been a real comedy of errors.” Cyril made a strangled sound and Ray quickly pulled Cyril further towards him, one hand splayed on his ass and the other ghosting along the shaft. Perhaps not the right time to relive teenage miseries. Or, in Cyril’s case, probably late-twenties miseries. He opened his mouth and licked along the underside, letting the head rest on his tongue as he glanced up. Cyril had his eyes squeezed shut.

“Stop pretending I’m Lana,” Ray sighed. “It’s me. Ray. A man. A man is blowing you.” Any protest Cyril might have wanted to express was swallowed as Ray took him into his mouth again, hollowing his cheeks and purposely making the most indecent sounds he could muster. He was surprised and mildly worried to discover that Cyril’s cock swelled up further — he hadn’t even been fully hard yet? 

“Oh, god,” Cyril whimpered. Ray’s thoughts exactly. What kind of god would bestow a man like this with a cock like that? Still, it’d be a sin not to lavish the attention upon it that it so clearly deserved. Looking up again, Cyril had obviously taken the hint and was now staring down at him in rapt attention. Ray hummed in approval, and took him deeper into his mouth, indecent sounds echoed by Cyril’s little breathless gasps as he moved up and down the shaft. Finally he pulled away only to replace his mouth with his hand, and licked along Cyril’s balls, taking them into his mouth in turns. Cyril seemingly lost his mind at that and was reduced to embarrassed moans, bucking up into Ray’s hand, all restraint out the lab’s non-existent window. Still working the shaft with his hand Ray withdrew and took a moment to suck on his index finger. Cyril looked down at him questioningly, mouth half-open, but didn’t ask.

Finally Ray pulled his finger out of his mouth with a wet _pop_ and tentatively pressed the tip against Cyril’s asshole. Finding he didn’t flinch away, he began circling it. Cyril only sighed. Perhaps Lana had trained him better than he thought. “Have you been fingered before, Cyril?”

“D-don’t ask,” Cyril moaned, throwing his head back.

“Have you been fucked, then?”

“You’re debauched,” Cyril babbled on. “You… you’re filthy. You’re a filthy degenerate...”

“Tell me all about it,” Ray continued, a wicked smile on his face as he rubbed his cheek against Cyril’s leaking cock. “Did she fuck you with a strap-on? Or was it an experiment in university? Did you do it to yourself?” He pushed past the tight ring of muscle, and Cyril immediately clenched down on his finger.

“ _Yessss_ ,” Cyril hissed.

“Yes to what? Yes, Lana? Yes, one of your geeky university buddies? Yes, a cucumber in the wrong place at the wrong time?”

“Yes, Lana!” Cyril moaned. “Oh god. Oh god. More. Deeper. Please.”

“Not without lube, honey.” Ray couldn’t keep the disappointment out of his voice.

“It’s fine.” Cyril sounded breathless. “It’s… it can hurt a bit. I like it.”

“Well, who’s the degenerate now?”

“It’s me, I’m the degenerate.” Cyril ground back against his hand, and Ray — feeling magnanimous — pushed in deeper, crooking his finger, and pressing down. The effect was immediate. Cyril clenched around him and his eyes fluttered open. “Do that again.”

“I liked it better when you were going all subspace on m-”

“Please,” Cyril added instantly. “Please, Ray.”

Somehow it was hearing his name that sent a shiver down Ray’s poor, abused spine — and although his legs were definitely out of commission, his cock seemed to have some life in it yet. Ray figured that bringing some activity back to his below-the-waist situation was worth at least a bit of gratitude, and indulged Cyril — both by pressing into his prostate once more, and by taking his cock into his mouth again. Trapped between Cyril’s quivering body on one side and the headboard of the hospital bed on the other felt more like home than he’d felt in a long time, in some twisted and frankly depressing way. Perhaps it was just nice to be needed. Cyril punctuated that thought with an obscene, guttural sound, and buried one hand in Ray’s hair, pulling hard enough to hurt and snapping his hips forward. Ray sputtered around the throatful of cock he was suddenly treated to, but managed to suppress his gag reflex and took Cyril’s monstrous dick like he was getting paid to, bobbing his head forward as far as he could, his tongue lewdly undulating against the underside, his lips stretched taut around the shaft. He withdrew his finger from Cyril’s ass only to push back in, with an added middle finger, and wished he could have laughed at the desperate keening noise Cyril made in response.

Judging by his trembling thighs, Cyril was close. Sure enough, he blurted out: “May I come?”

Ray pulled away. “Jesus, what kind of shit did you two get up to?”

“Please,” Cyril managed to croak. “Please. Please may I come.”

“Well, let me think,” Ray couldn’t help but tease, still finger-fucking Cyril with a pensive expression on his face.

“Please!” Cyril whined. “Please! May I come? Ma’am — Sir?”

And it was that _Sir_ that went straight to Ray’s cock and he was shocked to find himself fully erect, after all these weeks of believing himself a soft-dicked cripple for the foreseeable future. He opened his mouth wide, looked up at Cyril, and winked.

Cum splattered on his lips, on his tongue, and down his throat. He swallowed it down, licked his lips, and smiled up at Cyril. “How was that, baby?”

Cyril simply collapsed on top of him, and Ray’s first thought was that he was humping him — until he realized he was simply sobbing quietly. He sighed and rubbed his lower back. “You really know how to make a guy feel special, you know.”

“I’m sorry,” Cyril snivelled. “It’s, it’s not you… that was really great. It’s just, it’s...”

“It’s been a while?”

Cyril didn’t reply.

“Just for your information, two points of interest. One, I’m hard as a goddamn rock, and two, we are absolutely doing this again.”

“I don’t know how to address that first one,” Cyril said, “or that second one.”

“You don’t have to address anything. That’s why I said ‘just for your information’. No further action required, Figgis.”

They lay there in silence for a moment, until Cyril rolled over on his side, still pressed up against Ray, pants around his knees, glasses askew. “Can I stay here for a bit? I’m not ready to face the rest of them just yet.”

“Sharing a bed with the ringleader of the gay cabal? Are you sure? I might take you right into the...”

“Don’t say it,” Cyril rolled his eyes.

“Danger zone,” Ray grinned.


End file.
